Let Us Burn
by stAnd out - SHOUT OUT
Summary: Dexter finally meets someone able to see straight through his barriers, but hers aren't as perfectly constructed as she thinks, either. Now he must make a choice, save a murderer or kill the only woman unafraid of his true self? DexterXOC Dexter/OC
1. Bathe Me In Blood

**Bathe Me In Blood**

She tried to kick higher this time, the heel of her wrapped foot connecting with the worn lunching bag. She let out a rough growl of anger when she only ended up hitting the bag in the same place as last time, leaving her annoyed as she went for it again. The same result caused her to cuss quietly as she stepped away from the object of her annoyance and walked over toward the shelf that she had her water on. She could feel her heart thrumming quickly in her chest, feeling the pulsing in the tips of her fingers and through the veins of her arms.

Moving away from the shelf as soon as she had retrieved her water bottle, she was left standing still as she watched the punching bag swinging back and forth from the abuse that had been dealt to it. A scowl came to her face as she watched the black leather move back and forth. _'I'm still not ready'_ she thought.

Turning away, she downed a large mouthful of the water, feeling the room temperature liquid as it poured down her throat, cooling the burning skin. A distinct beeping noise came from behind her, causing her to look back toward her gym bag. Stepping up to the black back, she tossed her water aside carelessly.

"Out of time, already?" She asked herself quietly, lifting a black digital watch from the side pocket. 8:30 flashed in digital numbers back at her. Hitting the button on the high right, the beeping stopped right away, leaving the large abandoned gym quiet once more. _'Time to return to my life,'_ she thought as she stuffed the watch back into the bag. _'I always hate this part.'_

Pulling the sweaty shirt she was wearing over her head, she was left in nothing more than a pair of shorts as she shuffled through for her next shirt to wear. She didn't bother with bars underneath, trying to find as many as she could with bras built in. The hot Miami air kept her from getting chilled while so exposed, so it didn't matter that she could change her clothing this easily. Taking out her deodorant and some body-mist, she applied the right amount before finding the clean black tank and a blue dress-shirt for overtop. She had to stay late at work today, so it was best to bring in something comfortable. Pulling on some white cargo pants to finish the look; she just tossed the dirty clothes in the black bag.

Her cell phone buzzed from the on the bench beside the bag, where she snatched it up and only briefly glimpsed the name before she flipped it open and held it up to her ear.

"I'm on my way," she said simply as she held the phone to her ear with her shoulder as she tightened the buckle of her pants.

"Just wanted to make sure that it was alright for you to come in at such short notice, Grace." Grace smiled as she looked around the gym, knowing that she really didn't have any trouble with staying late at the lab.

"It's no problem, really. I'll be there in less than thirty minutes," Grace said as she and her boss each said a quick goodbye, hanging up simultaneously. Making sure that her water, clothing and hygiene products were all back in her bag, she pulled the bag up onto her shoulder and turned toward the exit. Locking up on her way out, she made sure that she hadn't left anything behind and that the lights were all shut off inside. "No problem at all," She muttered once last time before heading toward her truck.

Grace Clearwater had lived in Miami her whole life, though she often left to Canada to go out backing from her father's influence. She had first gone out back packing with her father when she was just a young teen, their last trip when she was seventeen a couple of months before he died. He had lung cancer, and the doctor had said that it had spread too much to save him. So they went out one last time, spent two week in the woods, then went home and spent the rest of the time watching him pass.

Her mother had died when she was a baby; she had been murdered. Grace had already been put to sleep and her father was out at work still. The man had come in through the back door and had attacked her mother from behind, injuring her. Her mom, Victoria, had run up the stairs to try and get to Grace, locking herself in her baby's room. Grace her woken and was crying hysterically. The man had broken the door down, and her mother had nowhere else to run. Her father, George, had come home and found Grace drenched in blood with her mother's body on the floor, her head in the crib with Grace. Her mother had been raped and beaten, before she was decapitated and left there.

'_I don't remember this,'_ Grace though as she looked out the window of her truck to look around at the many people walking along the well lit streets. _'My father had told me about what happened when I was old enough, he thought that I should know.'_

Stopping at a red light, Grace leaned back in the seat as her hands fell to her lap, sweaty and clenching. She looked around her truck to see if she had her work bag was with her in the passenger seat. Looking up again, she saw that the light was green and quickly placed her foot on the gas before the people behind her got angry. Taking a left, she continued on to work without any trouble.

When she was in high school, she had wanted to become an artist, and ended up becoming a facial and behavioural analyst. Her father had been a psychologist, which was why she had been able to live her life out slightly normally after her mother's death. But there were still setbacks.

"_Grace?" I looked up from the sketchbook that I had lying on my thighs as I leaned back against the post on the back deck. George walked over from the backdoor, holding the house phone in his hand. Grace felt her heart leap as her chest tightened._

"_It was the school, wasn't it?" She asked quietly, putting her book aside, with pencil and eraser remaining in her hands._

"_They said that you got into another fight today, Grace." Her father moved to lean on one knee as he looked her in the eye. She had green eyes, with a mix of auburn and burnet hair, and a small littering of freckles on her nose and under her eyes._

"_He called me a ginger again, dad, he said that I was a devil's child," Grace exclaimed as she fisted her hands, her knuckles whitening._

"_Grace, you can't keep hurting these kids. I know that they make you angry, but you have to go about this in a better way than that. You broke that kids jaw, you know." Grace knew that it was wrong, but her father's words caused pride to swell in her chest. That bastard deserved it, no one made fun of her, not without getting the consequences._

"_I'm trying," She mumbled, picking at the wood of her pencil._

"_I'm going to try and help you get this anger out, alright?" Grace looked up at him in confusion. "I'm going to get you a heavy bag, and I want you to promise that whenever you get angry, you'll go down and hit that punching bag as hard as you can to get out that anger. Can you promise me that?"_

Grace pulled up into the space that was reserved for her and her massive truck, since most of the other spots were too small and that large back trunk would hang over the end and get in the way of people who were leaving. She took her bag from the side seat, pulled the strap over her head and moved to leave. The lot didn't have a large abundance of cars or trucks as it usually would, so it seemed more eerie that way; at least it would to a normal person. Grace could only see the opportunity of a hiding place, of an attack, a chance to follow her prey.

"Grace!" Looking back, Grace could see her old friend Dan as he ran over to her, holding a try of coffee cups from the nearby cafe. "My favourite little weird child, here's your tea. I was told that you were staying late, so I knew you'd want one."

Dan had had some kind of crush on Grace for a while, she knew this, and tried her best to either act like she didn't know, or drop small hints that she didn't return the feelings that he was trying so hard to show her.

"Thanks Dan, you're a life saver." She took the offered drink to lighten his load, before they both made their way toward the lab, the sounds of the footsteps the only noise around the quiet lot.

"Did you hear about the new case? There was a man found decapitated in an alley down near a popular strip club. They need you to see what you can find out about the killer, see what you can tell us about the killer's behaviour and all that jazz." He nudged her arm as he was talking, teasing, and Grace felt a spark of annoyance and disgust at the contact. She didn't like being touched unless she was the one that was in control of the touching.

"Sounds like Saturday night," Grace chuckled, covering up the tensing of her body from anger as the need to laugh.

Once the two stepped into the office, Grace could immediately tell that there was something going on. They wouldn't be stuck inside this building for long. People were running around like chickens with their heads cut off and the Director was yelling orders to each person in the room. Grace would have jumped—had she been normal—when the director nearly screamed her name and ordered her to drive with Dan to the scene. There was a new murder, and for some reason, it had set off a reaction that she hadn't seen in years. Grace mentally grinned in anticipation as her heart began to speed up and her palms become sweaty, this was going to be a great night.

Picking up the few other things that she always brought along with her to a scene, she followed the rest of the group out the doors and each headed to their own vehicles. Grace looked back once to make sure that Dan was following her, since she didn't want to have to go into his car and be stuck without transportation encase something happened. Throwing her things into the back seat of the crew cab, she unlocked the passenger door so that Dan could slide in.

"Big truck for such a little girl," Dan said as he looked over to Grace, who was putting the key in the ignition. She continued on without skipping a beat.

"I'm an artist, Dan, I need a large vehicle to carry some of my things. And you know I'm not a little girl, I'm the same height as you and weigh more," Grace said as she looked back to make sure that it was clear before reversing. "Now drop it or you're walking."

Grace stood in front of that abandoned construction site, looking up at the half built building in confusion. Apparently there had been some kind of a problem with the structure and the build had to be cancelled; the building was scheduled to be torn down over a month ago but something had been somewhat of a roadblock.

"Grab your firearm, Clearwater, you're going in with Jerome." Grace looked back at the director, Bradley Micken, and nodded her head. Pulling the gun from the holster on the back of her belt, she followed after the detective. Stefan Jerome had been there a couple of years more than her, he was in a way her superior, and made sure that she knew it; he made sure that she would never forget it.

"Hurry your ass up, Clearwater!" Grace felt her brow twitch as she fought the urge to scowl, but headed after him instead as she kept her hand on the trigger. How much trouble would she get in for 'slipping' when the gun was pressed to his back?

Keeping about a yard back from Jerome, she didn't let her finger off the trigger of her gun as she held a flashlight in her other hand. The walls were rusting and wet, but there wasn't anything that jumped out. They reached the area that was supposed to be the floor above the basement and were forced to slow their steps because of the incomplete floor panels.

"Stay slow here, don't step anywhere without looking it over first," Jerome said as he shined his light directly in her eyes.

"I'm younger than you, not dumber, now get that light the fuck out of my eyes and do your own work up there," Grace snapped back, shining her light right back. Jerome glared before turning back around as he took the light from her eyes. Grace blinked as she tried to remove the dark spots from her vision, cursing the sudden impairment.

'_I'm going to find some reason to ki-'_

Grace's thoughts were cut short when a sharp metallic screech reached her ears, right before it seemed as though the ground disappeared from under her feet. An unintentional scream passed her lips as her ass hit what could be best described as a slide and she found herself on a ride straight into a pool of red liquid.

"Clearwater! The fuck? I told you to watch where you were fucking going!" Jerome's voice yelled from above her head somewhere. The powerful stench of copper caused Grace's eyes to snap open as she looked around. She could see the light of her flashlight making the redness glow around her. Fumbling for her gun, she quickly pulled it up from the water and she snatched her flashlight from the liquid. Swinging the light around, she felt her throat tighten as she held it in front of her.

A rush came to Grace as she looked around at a number of different naked torn up bodies, floating in a sea of their own mixed blood. She was covered in it, she could taste it, smell it, feel it. Usually, blood didn't give her much of a problem, but _this_ blood was different. This blood was the blood of innocent people, this blood made her almost blind with rage toward the person who had held the knife to their throats and pulled.

A distinct baby's cry reached her ears, but as she swung her light around to look for the source of the sound, she knew at that moment that it wasn't something anyone could hear. It was only her, she was the only one that could hear. Her mother's death, maybe? Was that what this scene reminded her of, was that why she felt such hatred to this specific killer?

"Grace? Are you alright down there?"

Grace held her flashlight up toward the metal slate that she had come down on, sliding over toward it through the blood. There were lights coming down the chute, from where she had fallen in. Sliding into the line of light, she flashed her own light upward toward them as she squinted from the brightness that assaulted her eyes.

"Holy Jesus Christ, someone get some rope, we need to get her up!"

"Grace, are you alright?"

"Yea, it's not mine," Grace yelled up, turning to show her light back toward the bodies. "I found the killers stash of victims, though." She knew she must have looked like a true monster, a demon, with her face painted with human blood and her eyes wide and nearly crazy. She could still hear the sounds of her nightmares of her mother's death.

"Just hold on."

Grace tried not to breathe in the strong copper scent, but it was all around her. It was like there was nowhere else for the smell to go. She couldn't take it. Pushing her gun back into its holster, she left her flashlight at the base of the ramp and began to pull herself up. She could see Dan and Jerome at the top, as well as some other faces that she didn't recognise. She knew that it would be bad to break down into a panic attack now, and it wasn't helping much that she was freaking out as she tried to pull herself up and was continuously failing.

"Grace, take my hand, come on," Dan's voice called from above her. She could feel the blood that was in her hair was falling down into her eyes, forcing her to have to close them. She reached up to try and grasp the hand that was offering to her, feeling around blindly. Someone finally clasped her hand in their own and she was pulled up from the pool of blood.

"Jesus fucking Christ." It was a different voice, a female, with some nasty language.

"Hold still, Grace, we're getting the blood off your eyes," Dan's voice said from behind her as various sets of hand fell onto her person, her muscles flinching involuntarily at the contact. Someone was holding her head, the other keeping her face still as a cloth was brushed over her eyelids, a pair on each of her arms to keep her upright.

"We're going to need more towels-"

"Get her out of here-"

Grace opened her eyes once more when she felt that they were done wiping off most of her face. She didn't dare open her mouth, knowing that there was still blood around her lips.

"You three go on with Jerome, we need more space here, _be careful_." The director's voice called with more orders, echoing around the room, before the sounds of the found people leaving was all the sound left. Grace blinked as the lights were all aimed at her, looking her over.

"Hey, Dex, come take a look that this man."

'_Who are all of these people, they can't be from our department,'_ Grace thought as she looked over to who had spoken. She didn't recognize him that was for sure, she didn't think she knew any bald white men at her station. A cloth wiped around her mouth and she looked over to see that it was Dan. He was wearing white surgical gloves to keep his hands clean.

"Oh, god, Grace you've got chunks of skin all over you," Dan said as he held a flashlight toward her neck and shoulder, he looked pale, sick.

"Get away from me Dan, you're going to puke." Not five seconds after she had spoken, Dan turned heel and ran from the room as he pushed and shoved people from his way. Grace made a face of disgust as she thought of if he hadn't run and went to pull herself up as another officer assisted, also wearing gloves.

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><p><strong>This is my first Dexter story, I'm not completely confident with writing in his perspective yet, but I'll try to get some of that in for later in the story. Hope you all liked it so far, this chapter is mostly just meant to introduce my OC, Grace. Please review, I would love to hear what you think so far. I'll do my best to get chapter two out really soon, but I'm a bit busy with school because I'm going on vacation to Mexico in exactly on week today, so...<strong>


	2. Disrupt the Peace

**Disrupt The Peace**

Grace stood in the blood lab of the department, standing still as a board as she was slowly stripped of her clothes by one of the female assistants. There were others there, apparently brought in to assist the new case. Their director, or as she was called Lieutenant LeGuerta, apparently just needed some good rep for her team and wanted to mooch off their case. Grace would have cared less, if it wasn't for the bald perverted man that seemed to have no difficulty with ogling near naked females, who was on their team.

"Hey, are you guys almost done in here?" Veronica, a young new secretary for the Director, stepped into the room with a look of annoyance on her face. She and Grace were near enemies, since Grace was older and more mature, as well as 'in' with the guys, Veronica wasn't getting the attention that she wanted. The preppy blonde was going to get herself killed one day soon. "They need Grace to continue with the discussion in the Bull Pen." She shot a glare her way, eyeing her half exposed body with hate. It had to be the abs.

"I'm not finished at all; I still have to remove the skin from her hair as well." The assistant said as she carefully assisted Grace with removing her pants without disturbing the evidence. All Grace as allowed to do was what she was told, "lift your arms" or "lift your foot".

"Well, they're getting antsy," Veronica complained, leaned against the door frame as she jutted her hip out.

"You're going to have serious hips problems if you keep doing that," Grace commented as she cast a glace to the bond from the corner of her eye. She saw when she received a glare, but had a jolt of victory when the younger woman straightened her posture a bit without really knowing.

"Then bring them here." The assistant nearly growled as she moved over to put Grace's pants in an evidence bag. Grace shivered at the cold of the room and the eyes on her, though they were few, she didn't welcome the attention. She had hated when the assistant had nearly fought her to get her undershirt off. She didn't like showing her scars, and when the assistant had gone silent and still behind her after the shirt had been carefully pulled off, her self-esteem plummeted.

"What?" Grace and Veronica asked in unison, one voice fairly deep with anger and the other high with shrill outrage.

"Look, pestering me isn't going to make any of this go any faster!" The assistant yelled over to Veronica, her hands landing on her hips as she glared. When she turned to Grace, she nearly reeled back at the look of complete hate on the redheads face. "I can give you something to wear, a lab coat or something, but I can't let you leave yet." Grace's glare didn't lift in the slightest, so the assistant finally turned away and went to collect different kits for the blood that coated the other woman from head to toe.

"God, this job is so-" The door closed behind Veronica before Grace could hear the rest of her comment, but it wasn't hard to guess how that sentence would end. The prickles of goosebumps rose to her flesh as she glared toward the door, before her attention as drawn to the assistant again as she brought in a pair of scrubs for her to wear, slightly faded, but clean.

"I can help you pull these on," She placed the shirt aside as she helped slip the pants up her legs, since Grace still couldn't move much because of the skin that was hanging from her body. She was still as she wrapped the shirt around her shoulders, since it was, thank god, a button up shirt. After she had finished making the redhead decent, she moved behind me to begin picking through said red hair as they both waited for the team to arrive, if they were coming here.

"Knock, Knock!" Grace flinched as the loud voice of Dan permeated the air, the assistant apologizing when she thought that it was her that caused the redhead to flinch, pulling her hair. She looked over to see Dan walking in with the rest of the team, as well as the other team from the department. "Please, don't come near me when you're like this, Grace." His face was still pale from the sight, steering clear.

"Don't worry, that won't be any trouble," Grace muttered to herself, hearing the assistant quietly snort in laughter behind her, accidently tugging on a piece of her hair harshly. "Ow!"

"Sorry."

"Alright, since we now have Grace with us, or we are with her, let's see what was found inside the abandoned construction site," The director instructed, sitting down on one of the lab stools. The team members each took turns as they presented what they had found, sharing details and pictures with Grace. As soon as the assistant was done with removing the skin from her hair she began to take swabs of the blood for testing. Grace concentrated more on reading through papers and looking over pictures, only half of her attention on the people speaking. Stopping at one of the pictures, she looked closely at the large rings of blood on the outside of the room she had fallen into.

"Wait," She said, loudly and firmly. Everyone in the room halted, even the lab assistant. The director moved over to where she was, looking at the picture in her hand. "Right here, these rings," She said as she pointed to the three overlapping circles of blood.

"We're having someone look into them for any kind of spiritual meaning-"

"That's not what they are. Look, the rings are done perfectly and aren't full, there are places of the circle that are missing. These weren't painted with the victim's blood. These rings were made from circular jars." Grace suddenly pointed over to the bald man from the other team. "You said the organs were missing, right?"

"Yea, cut right out."

"He's storing them," The director finished. Grace looked over to him with a dark look, her face solemn and emotionless.

"He's not just storing them; I think he's eating them." The entire room went silent after Grace's words, letting the disgust show on many of their faces. She noted when there were a few that just seemed to fall into an emotionless state, much like her own.

Grace was relieved when she was finally able to leave for home, still wearing the scrubs that the assistant had given her. Her red hair had been spun up into a tight bun, still hard and stained with the blood of the dead victims. Her strides were long and impatient as she marched up the path to her house, the motion sensing lights coming on at her porch.

"Damn my life to hell," She muttered to herself as she stepped up the stone walkway carefully. She didn't need to step on any stones when her feet weren't properly protected in nurses shoes. Unlocking and opening her house door with ease, she paused just inside at the strange feeling that something was off, causing the hairs on the back of her neck to stand on end.

Reaching to the left, she flipped on the switch for the overhead light, blinking against the sudden intense light that assaulted her eyes. Glancing around the room, but seeing nothing out of place, she didn't shake the feeling right away and quietly closed the door behind her. Listening quietly, no other sounds came through the house, leaving her to wonder just what was going on with her mind.

Stepping through the living room quickly, she began stripping off the shirt that she had been given as she made her way down the narrow hall that led to the bedrooms and bathroom. Closing the bathroom door behind her as she slipped off the remainder of her clothing, then stepping into her shower—turning the hot water on full blast—and began to scrub viciously at her skin and hair. The water began to run pink and bright red as the stain washed from her skin, the soap gaining a murky red colour. She stayed under the spray for a good hour, washing at her skin until it was raw and stung.

She must have washed her hair at least three times before she had finally stepped out of the shower. Wrapping herself in a towel and beginning to dry her hair with a second, she didn't bother to think about the growing pool of water at her feet as she rubbed at the water in her hair, relieved to have the natural red back to normal. Tossing the wet towel into the hamper and stepping from the warmth of the bathroom, a large shiver ran up her spine at the cool air of her bedroom as soon as the door opened.

Something wasn't right.

Flipping on the lamp on her nightstand, she couldn't help the feeling that something was wrong. The feeling had ebbed off while she was in the shower, but it had returned full force now that she was back out in the open. Changing into a pair of pale grey shorts and a black tank top quickly she soon headed out to the main area of the house, her feet silent along the floor. Peeking around every corner and into every room that she passed she made her way to the kitchen, taking one of the steak knives from the black holder as she passed.

Holding the handle of the knife so that she blade was down against her forearm, she made her way toward the study that she had made out of the second bedroom in her small home. Slipping into the darkened hallway, her eyes darted around her as her hand tightened on the blade in her hand in anticipation. She was coiled and ready to spring if anything was to come out at her.

Nudging the door open with her foot, she stood just outside of the doorway as she looked inside, seeing the outline of some of the furniture and bookcases in the room. Stepping in quietly, she looked to the right quickly with the knife raised up before her chest defensively, a small jerk of her wrist all that was needed for the blade to move away from her arm and directly to whoever faced her.

She nearly jumped at a sudden ring that sounded through the room, the screen of the phone on her desk lighting up across the room. Letting out a silent sigh she stepped into the room and plucked the phone from the table, looking down at the ID. Recognizing Dan's cell number she quickly muted the ring and threw it back down on the desk, turning on the lamp on the corner of the desk. The bookshelves behind the desk came into view, allowing her to see the various names on the warn spines.

Placing the knife down beside the lamp, she moved around the desk and fell into the leather chair behind the desk, looking over to where the open door was. The feeling was gone. Whatever it was that had been causing her body to turn to fight mode had departed from her home. But she knew that even if it was gone now it would always come back. And ruin her.

Spinning the knife on the table, she glared over at the door in contemplation. This was a day that she just wished could be erased. Her scars had been bared opening to an outsider in her life and she was repulsed by the thought. Watching as the light caught the blade of the kitchen knife, shining in her eyes and on the blood red walls that she had decided to paint her room.

She wanted to both beat the crap out of something and to sleep the rest of the week away, but she knew that she could do neither. The most that she could do was take the morning shift off like the Director had suggested and catch up on some sleep and a work out. After turning off the lights and returning the knife to the kitchen, she moved toward her bedroom with a sudden drag to her step. Pausing in the hallway, she looked to her right at the sight of one of the pictures tilted to the side slightly.

Reaching up to tilt the picture back into its proper position, she couldn't help but to smile at the sight of her father smiling back at her. Touching the picture frame gently, she couldn't help but feel the pain of anguish from losing her father, even though it had been over a decade before, she was still so terribly sad to see the only person that had ever understood her was gone forever.

"I'll make you proud, dad. I promise."

Sliding the blade of the knife along her tongue she savoured the pomegranate juice that assaulted her taste buds. Licking her lips as she placed the knife in the soapy water in the sink, she began to pick at the red seeds from the inside of the cut fruit, crunching their hard inside as the juice spurted in her mouth.

A knock on the front door drew her attention away from her snack, the sweat from her workout still clinging to her skin. Dropping the fruit back into the bowl, she popped her fingers into her mouth and sucked the red juice off her fingers before she made her way to answer the door. She hadn't been expecting anyone, but after last night she was sure that word would get out and people would want to 'console' her.

"Grace?" The female voice that called through the door allowed the redhead to relax before opening the door with a small smile forced to her lips.

"Hey, Gwen," She greeted softly, the blond on the other side of the door throwing herself around the other woman in what she probably assumed was a friendly embrace. She tried to ease the other woman off of her as gently a she could, but as soon as Gwen felt her pushing away she clung on tighter.

"I'm sure that was so traumatizing, Grace, and I'll be here if you need me. Just so long as you don't describe any of it to me," She said, finally moving back when Grace's movements became more urgent. "Sorry, I know you're not the biggest fan about touching," She said as she stepped back, hands up in surrender.

"Yea, thanks, come on in," Grace said as she moved out of the doorway, her arm opening out to allow Gwen to step inside. "I was just grabbing a snack, can I get you anything?"

"Some water would be wonderful, it's cooking outside," Gwen said as she walked past her redheaded friend.

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><p><strong>I'm sorry that I took this long to update, there's been a lot of crap going on in my life right now and I haven't been able to get on this site for a while. Please review!<strong>


	3. Every Book Has a Cover

**Every Book Has a Cover**

Screaming in nearly complete outrage, Grace slammed her fist into the heavy bag as hard as she could. The weighted leather bag swung away from her body from the force, the chains holding it up groaning loudly in protest. Stepping out of the way before the bag swung back and hit her, she bounced on her toes and shook her body to let the tension in her muscles uncoil. A sudden beeping from her watch made her look down at her wrist, noting that it was time to pack up. Stepping away from the bag and letting it continue to sway, she jogged over to her bag and quickly snatched it up before she jogged off to the showers.

After she had finally escaped Gwen and made it to the gym all of her anger and pent up emotions from the day before flooded out. Her knuckles were sore from the serious pounding that she had delivered to the punching bag, they could have been cut if she hadn't wrapped them as carefully as she did. Stripping down to her sports bra and jogging shorts, she turned on the water to let the temperature adjust as she got the rest of her things from her bag.

The water hit the cement floor and sound filled the change room as Grace shuffled through her bag for her soap. Pulling out the knife that she kept in her bag, she paused in her search to look over the blade. It had a long engraving of a tiger along one of the sides of the double edged weapon, the indentations giving a shadowed image. Her father had owned it before her and had passed it down to her when he had taught her how to hunt.

Turning the weapon over in her hand, she smiled slightly as she thought back to when she had first used it. The thrill still lingered beneath her skin.

"That lady wears way to much pink," One of the other detectives on the case muttered as he lent back in his chair. Grace looked over from where she was sitting on her desk toward the lieutenant that was talking with the director. The Latina was wearing a light pink blouse and a dark pink skirt with pink jewellery to match.

"She looks like a Barbie crazed fan dressed her," Dan commented as he stepped up beside the other officer.

"One of these days someone's going to hear you talking about them behind their back and you're dead," Grace threw in, causing the other two to chuckle.

"Glad to see that the ordeal from last night didn't change you," Dan said with a smile as he clapped her on the shoulder. She supressed the want to hit him back and only chuckled along with him, nodding her head in agreement. "How're you feeling, anyway?"

"I'd be better if people stopped asking me that," She nearly snapped, her irritation clearly visible.

"Whoa, down girl," Matthews, the other officer in the conversation, threw in with a laugh.

"Hey, you three!" The trio looked over to where the director was standing, some of the people from the MPD already standing there waiting. The direction motioned them forward and the three of the quickly moved to obey. Grace hung back behind the others, trying to mould herself with the background. But it wasn't meant to be.

"Grace, you'll be working with Morgan and Masuka. Morgan's the blood spatter analyst and Masuka here works with forensics," The director explained easily, motioning to each in turn. She stepped forward to shake each of their hands, "Grace here is our behaviour analyst. We're hoping she can find out why the killer did what they did to the body."

"Wonderful," Masuka nearly purred, drawing the word out as he spoke.

"You're disgusting," a female to the right of him said with a glare, only causing the bald man to grin suggestively at her. Grace felt slightly repulsed by the man.

"The samples have all been shipped down to the police department so you'll be working over there under Lt. LaGuerta's watch." Grace already knew that this wasn't going to be the calming and easy atmosphere that she was used to and just wished for the case to be over so she could get back to her own life and worries.

"Perfect," She said instead, smiling to the Lieutenant.

"We're heading back down there now, you can ride with Morgan," LaGuerta said tersely before she turned and left, not leaving Grace room to state that she could easily drive herself down.

"Or I could give you a ride," Masuka started, stepping up to Grace and causing her to look down at him with wide eyes, "Or you could gi-" Before he have a chance to finish the word—let alone the sentence—Grace's hand had snapped out and taken hold of his jaw, silencing him.

"Don't even dare finish that," She mumbled out, watching as he nodded slightly with wide eyes. She pulled her hand back as soon as he had done so, letting him adjust the glasses that had begun to slip down his nose. "Glad we sorted that out."

"I like her," The brunette from before said with a slight grin, "I'm Debora Morgan, Dex's younger sister," She said as she held out her hand, motioning over to the man that I had been told to go with back to view the bodies.

"Grace Clearwater," Grace introduced back, shaking the other woman's hand.

"Deb, come on!" A blond officer called from across the room, making the brunet sigh irritably and walk off, waving to the group as she departed. Grace lifted an elegant red eyebrow as she watched her depart before she shook off the encounter and looked over to where Dexter Morgan had stepped forward.

"I guess I'll be giving you a ride then," Morgan said as he motioned backward, toward the exit door. Grace nodded her head and moved to lead the way out, hearing when Masuka had a quick hushed conversation with Morgan before the Blood Spatter Analyst followed after her. Thankfully, alone. Holding the door open, Grace let Dexter take lead when they reached the parking lot, following behind to where his car was parked. She waited for the familiar sound of the locks releasing before she opened the passenger door, sliding into the seat gracefully. She looked around the spacious mini-van, spotting a kids car seat in the back.

"My kid's," Dexter explained, clearly noticing her eyes on the seat. She looked back up to him, noting that he seemed to have a calculating look in his eyes.

"How old it he?"

"Three years," Dexter answered, a smile of fatherly pride touching his lips. "How'd you know it was a boy?" He asked, turned in his seat again so he could look out the rear window of the van as he reversed. His arm came around to rest behind Grace's seat, letting her catch a quick smell of male cologne. She turned to face the front window again, the presence of Dexter Morgan strangely unsettling.

"There's no pink in the car. I don't think I've ever seen a family with a young daughter that doesn't have pink _everywhere._ And the pride on your face is a look fathers almost always only get from a son, not a daughter."

"You can tell all that?" He asked, looking over to her quickly as he turned to face forward again and shifted the van into drive.

"I'm a Behaviour Analyst, of course I can tell," She said back lightly, smiling at him. _Am I making him nervous?_ She thought to herself, still smiling. _What do you have to hide, Mr. Morgan?_ "I'm sorry for your loss," She said softly afterword. Dexter tensed up beside her, looking at her sharply for a moment. "Your wife." Motioning to the pale strip of skin on his ring finger, Dexter seemed to relax slightly as he spread his fingers out so show the line more clearly.

"How'd you know she died?" Dexter asked, his voice betraying his curiosity.

Grace smirked as she looked forward, "You just told me."

The ride to the department wasn't long, but the silence that hung in the car was thick and slightly uncomfortable for both parties. Grace looked out the window the entire time, focusing only on the buildings and cars that darted passed them. Dexter was quiet and graceful as he drove, his hands moving the steering wheel perfectly and without the slightest bit of trouble. Masuka had gotten there before them and was waiting patiently outside the building for them, opening Grace's door for her. She had half a mind to hit the lock button down before he had the chance, but held that back and just gave him a stern look as she stepped out of the van.

"The bodies are already in the lab and waiting for you," He said as he made a grand sweeping gesture toward the building.

"Perfect," She said, turning to look at Dexter across the hood of the car, "Care to show me the way?" Masuka looked slightly dejected as Dexter nodded and began to lead the way, the BA following after him without missing a beat. "Is there a way that I can avoid him?" She asked after they had entered the building, Grace signing in with the front desk while Dexter showed his pass.

"Not really, believe me, the women here have tried. It doesn't work out very well," Dexter answered easily, moving toward the elevator near the front entrance. She followed after him easily, noticing the looks that were passed to her as she walked. She was a stranger in this place.

"At least tell me that he's the only one like that here, I already have to deal with Dan, I don't need anyone else," She joked, stepping into the elevator after him. He reached across her and hit their level before stepped back toward the other side of the metal box again. She noticed the angle of his body in a defensive state, making her nearly smirk on the inside. He could recognize a predator when he saw one.

"No, you're safe," He said back, his voice holding its own level of amusement, "However, I would recommend watching out for Quinn-"

"Playboy?"

"Behaviour analysis again?"

"No, that one was a guess."

The elevator doors opened onto the floor that Dexter had selected, a couple of people stepping aside to let the two of them off. Dexter motioned for Grace to step off first, moving ahead of her again once she had moved out to lead the way down to the morgue. She glanced back to make sure that Masuka wasn't following them once before she made sure that Dexter's directions had her undivided attention.

"I imagine that as a blood splatter analyst you see things like this all the time?" She asked, her eyes on the back of his sandy blond head.

"Every case," He called back, turning to a set of double doors and looking at her as he took hold of the handles, "But each one is different." One hard pulled opened both doors, a rush of cold air blowing out from the refrigerated room. The bodies of five women were laid out on tables, their bodies mangled, some with limbs having to be place in the correct places after being torn off.


	4. The Perfect Sin

**The Perfect Sin**

Grace leant over one of the bodies of the dead women, looking along the cut lines on the wrists. Dexter Morgan watched her carefully, standing beside one of the other bodies. She didn't seem squeamish in the least to be so close to a dead and pieced together body, even going so far as to pick up a severed limb to examine the cuts more closely. Grace had just finished writing down some information on her clip board when the doors opened and LaGuerta stepped through the doors, her high heels tapping.

"Please tell me you found something, Morgan!" she said as she walked right past Grace, who ignored the Latina in return. Dexter could see her mutter something when LaGuerta was far enough away from her, fairly certain that it had been 'bitch'.

"There was nothing on the bodies that could identify the killer, these women were sitting in their own blood spanning from five days to eighteen hours," Dexter explained, motioning to the woman that looked in the best condition, proving that she hadn't been in the liquid as long as the others.

"Anything else?"

"He knew them," Grace said from the other side of the room. LaGuerta seemed to flinch as she turned to look over to Grace, apparently having forgotten about the woman.

"Pardon?"

"He knew them," Grace repeated. "These cuts are surgical, he knew that he was doing, but they all have the same hesitation marks. And there are small cuts and lacerations all over the body-except for the face. It'll take a closer examination, but I'm sure that you'll find evidence that their faces were covered. When someone covers the face it means they are either remorseful or they have a connection with the victim prior to taking them."

Even though it was Grace that had discovered the newest bit of information, she turned back to Dexter and began to question him about it, causing the analyst to try and redirect the woman's attention to the one who actually knew what she was talking about. Grace didn't seem offended, however, and simply began to write down her findings in the report, turning a shoulder to LeGuerta and himself in the process.

Dexter had never felt such a frosty response from someone before.

He had known his share of people who turned a blind eye or gave someone the cold shoulder, but there was so much hidden malice in Grace's actions that he couldn't help but to feel intrigued, drawn in. The precision of which everything was done gave off the impression of a deadly grace that suited her name nearly frighteningly accurately.

Before he knew one moment from the next, LeGuerta had left and Grace had resumed her examination of the limbs, moving on to the lacerations on the wrists and ankles that proved the victims had all been bound by ropes or chains sometime during their incarceration. She wrote down everything that she discovered, whether it held large or minimal importance, and seemed to completely forget that there was another person in the room.

Dexter had been nearly convinced she had forgotten he was there until she spoke to him.

"You know about different types of cutting weapons in your line of work, right?" she asked suddenly, looking up from one of the cuts that covered one of the more intact bodies.

"I can make a ballpark estimate, but I would need to study the different cuts and weapons that could be used before I can actually say for sure," Dexter explained easily, placing the folder that he had been reading through, or at least pretending to, and moved over to stand on the opposite side of the metal examination table that she was occupying.

"I know that the weapon used to cut the limbs had teeth, but I can't tell how large it was. Could it have been a saw? If so, what kind?" Dexter looked at the cuts that she was motioning to, picking up a limb to better examine it.

"It's a saw, and it doesn't look like a small one, either," Dexter mumbled as he continued to inspect the limb. Glancing up once, he caught Grace watching his with that deadly precision and felt an involuntary rise of the hairs on the back of his neck. He knew that look; it was the same look he had while he was stalking after a victim. When she caught him looking she didn't turn away but offered a friendly smile, the icy appeared leaving her eyes, and looked to be waiting for him to continue. She definitely was confident enough with herself not to avoid eye contact. "I'll let you know for sure as soon as I find out."

"Great," she chirped and stepped back, beginning to pull of the gloves that had been protecting her hands and the evidence. "That's all that I can do tonight," she continued on as she tossed the gloves into the garbage can that sat in the corner of the room. She paused a moment later and groaned softly, her head falling back as she sighed.

"What's wrong?" he asked, making sure that everything was back in place on the examination table.

"My truck is back at the department," she answered, looking over her shoulder to him with a hopeful eye. "I don't suppose you can offer a ride back?"

Grace sat still and poise in the passenger seat on the ride back to the department, her eyes directed out the window as the night passed on by. Dexter would glance back at her every now and again, never letting his eyes linger for more than a moment. He found his eyes lingering on the shadows that the streets lights cast over her face, or the brilliant red of her hair that stood out with every shine that touched it. Now and again she lifted her hand and slide her nail along the center crease of her bottom lip, revealed straight, white bottom teeth. The movements almost seemed seductive and alluring, if she hadn't been doing it without realizing.

"Where's your truck?" Dexter finally asked when they were pulling into the parking lot. Grace motioned toward the back area, where there were only a select few of tucks or cars littered throughout the parking spaces.

"There, the black one," she said, pointing to the large black pickup truck that would easily have taken two spaces. "Thank you so much for the ride." Grace went about releasing her seatbelt and collecting her things from at her feet. "I would have hated to ask Masuka for a lift back. I take him as the kind of person to make a '_wrong turn',_" she added on, keeping her voice low in irritation that Dexter wondered if she was aware she was speaking in such a way.

"Drive carefully," Dexter called out to her as she stepped from the truck. She smiled her thanks one last time before closing the door and turning away, heading for her driver's door. Dexter watched her for a moment as she unlocked the doors before pulling herself up into the cabin, closing the door almost immediately. She was almost paranoid with her actions. He had also noticed that she did something not many were known to; she held her keys between her fingers, like blades, so that if she was attacked she could stab the offender with the key's narrow end.

He waited until she had pulled out of her parking space, the night masking her inside the truck, and pulled away. Against his better judgement, Dexter pulled out after her and didn't follow.

Grace looked up through the rear view mirror to make sure that one Dexter Morgan pulled away in the right direction, away from her. Sighing heavily, she relaxed back into her seat and pulled up to a red light, glancing down at the clock in her dash. It was later than she had hoped to get out of the lab, but she knew that she couldn't leave just because she wanted to. Not when working with Dexter Morgan, which was certain. She could see it in his eyes; he was just as predatory as she was.

Instead of turning toward her home, though, she made her way to the gym.

She really needed to blow off steam.

Dexter knew that he shouldn't risk following Grace, but the opportunity was too good to pass up. It wasn't hard to make a quick turn and find her truck at a set of lights a block down from the parking lot, and he easily kept a distance between them as he followed after her. She wasn't turning toward where he knew her address was, however, and he found the curiosity inside of him just dying to discover her secrets.

When she pulled down a secluded road that led into the outskirts of the city, toward the deserted buildings that had been left behind years before, he pulled to the curb and shut down the engine. Her headlights turned off a couple of minutes later, allowing him to see which building she had pulled in front of. The only one that looked to be in decent shape.

Slipping from the van, he resumed his way to the building, only this time he was on foot. It felt strange to be dressed in his khaki pants and button up shirt instead of the darker hunt clothes that he would usually wear when he was stalking someone, but he knew that he didn't have time to concern himself with changing his clothing into something darker.

The windows were either boarded up or covered in tinted glass, preventing Dexter from seeing inside of the building as easily as he had hoped, but there was a back door that had been broken long before, hanging open and nearly inviting him inside. The sounds of a swinging chain was what drew him forward first, the second was the rhythmic pounding of a punch. Walking past a relatively clean and intact changing room, Dexter slowed to careful strides as he came to the corner that would reveal the main room, where Grace was throwing hard, fast punches at the heavy bag.

She was still dressed in the same work outfit, but she had removed her shoes to stand in bare feet on the cold concrete ground. She looked wild and enraged and as slammed her wrapped fists against the leather that bound the sand inside of the bag. The wrapping was professional and well-practiced, just as her swings and hits were. She was no beginner when it came to throwing the punching bag around on the hook attached to the low ceiling beams.

The calmness that had surrounded her while she was in the lab with him seemed to have completely disappeared. The flare of red hair looked like blood flowing around her shoulders as it swung with her movements, the contrast of her pale skin shocking and deadly.

Such a perfect sin.

The anger seemed to drain more and more with each throw of her fist until she had slowed down and instead pressed her palm against the bag to stop its swinging motion.

Grace stood with her hand pressed to the heavy bag as she tried to tell what had suddenly changed. It was the same feeling from when she was inside her house after falling into the bloody chamber. It was unsettling and she felt like all of her hairs were standing on end.

Glancing up around the windows of the building, she frowned upon remembering that no one could see inside. The beep of her watch telling her that another hour had passed through the day and the night was growing later still, she let out a sigh and gave a strong heavy to the heavy bag, meeting its returning swing with her fist to stop it cold and turn it back the other way before she turned to head for the showers, snatching her bag along the way.

Dexter slipped around another corner into the shadows when Grace walked past him, her stride faltering for a moment when she moved near him, before continuing on. She knew that he was there on some subconscious level. She probably didn't even know why she felt off, but she definitely felt the discomfort of someone treating her as prey.

However, even skilled predators knew that there was a time that one needed to back off. So, Dexter slipped back toward the door as the showers started up in the changing room. The building had been built back up quite well, more than likely with some help. Perhaps it was the same person that had taught her how to release her anger in such a way.

He paused, however, at the clattering of metal on cement. Turning back toward the change rooms, the curiosity was too much to overcome and he made his way toward the open doorway, no longer having anything blocking it from the rest of the building. She didn't seem to have much concern when it came to being exposed while on her own domain.

Carefully looking around the corner, the glint of a metal blade drew his attention first before he followed the expanse of pale skin that ran up the back of Grace's legs. She was only in her undergarments, with her back to the door. All black materials revealed just how pale she truly was. Strange, for Miami. Someone that didn't like the sun; the ever betraying sun.

Dexter Morgan, the serial killer that hid himself right beneath the noses of the police, having killed, slaughter, butchered dozens of people, felt his mouth go dry as he focused on the long whip like lacerations on her back. They looked like they came from a belt, and some less than a decade old. These were from her teenage years, with many still an angry pink of scarred tissue.

_Who could have done this to you?_

Feeling that he was intruding on something more than it was, Dexter backed off.

**I'm back! Don't know how often I'll be able to update this story, but I'm trying to work on a lot of my stories, get through with work and keeping up with a lot of crap. But, I never want my readers to think that I've abandoned them(though, I'm sure many think that..)**

**Sorry it took so long to get this out, I hope that you all enjoyed it and I'll do my best to get the next one out before too much time passes… I'll try. **


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